


Two Visits

by thedisgruntledone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: In which Jack pays a visit to an old friend, and entertains guests of his own.





	Two Visits

Jack will never admit how long it took to figure out that the two of them were alive. He doesn't like losing, never has, but it seems like when it comes to Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter he can do nothing else.  
   
When he feels like being fair to himself (and he does less often than he thinks Will Graham would believe - he's driven, Jack, but the price of that drive is that failure hits ten times harder. It's why he hates it so much), he can admit that they had no reason to believe otherwise. It has been years since Dolarhyde; years with not so much as a whisper of anything that could be laid at their door. No murders, no missing organs, not even a telling pattern of disappearances. They’d both lost a lot of blood, and all evidence pointed to them going over the bluff. Then again, Jack thinks that he should have known. When it comes to the two of them, even a dead body can’t be conclusive.   
   
Capturing Will had been more luck than any real skill, he knows, and it burns. He supposes that he should still be feeling some pride that they managed to collar Will at all, but he can’t. It's failure he feels now, as he stands on the other side of the glass, Will smirking at him faintly.  
   
"Hello, Jack," he says, eyes moving over him in a way that makes his skin crawl. He forces himself not to fidget, not to betray any emotion, but Will sees it anyway, of course he does - sees it and drinks it in with obvious delight.  
   
He clenches his teeth. "Will." His voice comes out rough, and he clears his throat.  Will's eyes dance.  
   
"Ah," he says, "I know what this is. Tell us where Hannibal is and we'll give you certain privileges. Books, maybe, or perhaps a working toilet." he rolls his eyes. "That was the first thing they took, you know. Suppose they thought it would work on me as well as Hannibal. But we both know I've always been a bit more crass than that." His mouth quirks briefly. "A bit  _dirtier_ , if you will."  
   
"Maybe they thought that things had changed. You don't remind me much of the Will Graham I used to know."  
   
An eyebrow goes up. "Did you ever really know me? I was a useful tool for a while, but when your hammer breaks you don't repair it; you go out and buy a new one." His head tilts. "Am I going to meet the new hammer, Jack?"  
   
There is no one, not right now. No protégé or tool that he can use to crack the man behind the glass, no way to get at him. The one he would have used for Hannibal won't work on Will. He will never meet Clarice Starling.  
   
"If you don't tell us where he is you will be tried alone," he tries. "You will be convicted. And we've learned from our mistakes. You won't be left here to plan an escape. You will receive the death penalty."  
   
"Is that supposed to scare me?" There's genuine amusement in the words. "I don't know where he is, and if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Wouldn’t do you any good anyway. I couldn't testify against him even if I wanted to."  
   
He'd been wearing a ring, Jack recalls, when he'd been brought in. He'd been calm, amused even, until someone had tried to take it off. The guard might regain his sight, Jack has been told. But he will never be able to use his left hand again.  
   
"I'm done," Will says, turning his back. "I'm tired. Come back tomorrow if you like and try again." he lays on his cot and closes his eyes, and Jack knows that he has gone away, disappeared into his mind where Jack cannot follow, and it will not matter how many times his name is called. He will not answer. There was a time when Jack might have tried anyway, kept at it relentlessly in the hope of getting a response, but that time was long ago, longer than the span of its years. He leaves.  
   
The house is dark when he enters. It always is anymore. He keeps the curtains closed now, keeps the world out as best he can. With Bella gone there seems to be less and less of a point to letting the light in. He doesn't like to spend his time here; home isn't the comfort that it used to be. He'd rather be at work. He understands in some dim way that he’s making things worse for himself, but he doesn’t care. Sometimes he thinks that it would be a blessing to have it done. Just let it end.   
   
The kitchen light is on. Jack walks toward it. His gun is in the car; he has been keeping it there more and more lately, too worried about the temptation it presents in the darkest hours of the night when he begins to think of all of his mistakes and missteps and misses Bella so much that anything seems better than lying in the dark without her breathing beside him. He should go the other way; he could probably make it back out the door and to his gun. Give himself a fighting chance. He doesn't.   
   
The table is set for three, and Will is already seated. Jack blinks.  _Sooner than I thought_ , he thinks, and then there is an arm around his throat and a small prick of pain and he falls, but before he goes under completely he registers the muted glow of gold circling one of Will's blood streaked fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, let me know what you think.


End file.
